


Not as distant as I hoped

by AngstyAlice



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: A Bit of Fluff, Angst, Cravings, Detox, Friendship, Johnlock - Freeform, Mental Breakdown, Recovery, Relapse, Suicidal Ideation, TW: Drug Abuse, Withdrawal, badassery, casework, possibly turning into johnlock, tw: cocaine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 02:37:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 19,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1209631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngstyAlice/pseuds/AngstyAlice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock slips in his drug recovery and John finds out. They have to work through things together but Sherlock has problems accepting help. Very angsty.<br/>Johnlock later on. </p><p> </p><p>Please don't read if drug abuse triggers you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. relapse

**Author's Note:**

> Jumping right in.
> 
> Kudos, comments, and constructive criticism welcome.  
> I do not own these charterers, they are owned by Doyle and BBC, this is written purely for amusement. 
> 
> Enjoy.

“Shit” Sherlock mumbled as his hands shook. Wrapping the belt he used as a makeshift tourniquet around his arm. He laid out the supplies, conducting himself with the precision he would an experiment. Everything was ready, most of all Sherlock. It had been awhile since he used, promising the Yard that he was clean. He slipped up every once and awhile, needing the feeling of drugs more than anything. Sherlock times everything perfectly to make sure he was never caught, at this point even the random drug testing was few and far between. He hid the supplies so that they were never found on the drug sweeps Lestrade conducted. But, here he was, again shooting up in his living room.

 

_Come on, stupid hand stop shaking. There’s five hours until John gets home. Enough time for this, and give me a chance to enjoy this before hiding everything as the high wears down. If only you would bloody stop shaking!_ Sherlock knew the only thing that would stop this shaking now is the sweet rush in his veins. _Finally!_ He thought as his hand gave in, he felt the familiar pinch of of the needle, pushing the plunger down he let go of the breath he didn't know he was holding. Unwrapping the belt he threw everything on the table and laid back. Waiting.

 

The high kicked in, he could feel in in his head as everything calmed down. He swore he could feel the cocaine in every vein and artery and cell in his body. One by one his nerves relaxing. Closing his eyes he let the high move through him. His mind stopped, like he knew it would, and he was content just being. The guilt, the hiding, the lying; everything else would come later, but right now none of it mattered. Sherlock was so lost in the feeling of the drug he hadn't partaken in a few weeks that he almost didn't hear the click of the door.

 

“FUCK” John yelled as he opened the door to the flat. Seeing Sherlock laying on the couch was nothing new, but the belt, the bag of white power, he needle, all of it was too much. John knew exactly what Sherlock had done.

 

Dropping his bag and coat on the floor John slammed the door as he rushed to Sherlock. An odd feeling of satisfaction as he saw his flatmate jump at the sound.

 

“What the fuck do you think you're doing?!”

 

“Well, I was taking a nap until you so rudely interrupted.” Sherlock responded. “Why are you home so early?”

 

“I only had one patient for the afternoon so I rescheduled her to tomorrow to have after lunch off. Clearly, that was a good idea. No changing the subject. What. Are. You. Doing.”

 

“You already know the answer to that.” Sherlock replied, eyes still closed.

 

“Fine. Why?”

 

“You won't understand”

 

“Try me”

 

“I needed it”

 

“Hah.” John couldn't help the quick laugh that came from his mouth. “What godforsaken reason do you have for needing something that has so distinctly ruined your life already?”

 

“See. You don't get it. Now, if you will excuse me I'm going to get back to my nap.” Sherlock enunciated as he turned to get up to head to his room.

 

Sherlock reached for the supplies on his table as an instinct, to take them back with him. John took the opportunity to push Sherlock back onto the couch. The high making the detective unsteady on his feet. John grabbed everything on the table before him, walking to the other room, throwing it into a towel then trash bag. Sherlock heard footsteps up to his room. _I'll take them back later._

 

“No you will not. You will not go into my room. You will not go into your room until this wears off. You will not lie to me about this. You will, however, tell me why you did it, how long you've been off the wagon, and will show me your arms.”

 

“Being presumptuous are we?” Looking at John, clearly in military mode, standing over him with an air of dominance. Eyes filled with rage, concern, and determination.

 

“No. I'm laying down the rules that you clearly need. And you will tell me.”

 

“I will not.” _Man, he really knows how to kill a buzz._

 

“You will now, or I will not only call Lestrade I will call Mycroft.” _Worth a try, I'll probably tell them anyway, at least Mycroft. He has a right to know._

 

“You wouldn't” Sherlock replied, sounding more scared than he intended. _Mycroft probably already knows with his 'surveillance' but I need the cases from the Yard. I'll go crazy without the puzzle. It'll be your fault John._

 

“Are you willing to take that risk?” _I really don't want to do this. I hate being the bad guy._

 

“Fine. But make it known that I am not complying willingly.” _Damn it._

 

“So noted. Now talk.” John replied as he slumped down in his chair. 


	2. Explanations and Excuses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> explanations and excuses. Still setting a foundation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Giving a second chapter today too. Hope you enjoy. Thanks for reading.
> 
>  
> 
> As always, comments, kudos, and constructive criticism welcome.  
> I also don't own the characters, that would be Doyle and the BBC.

“So noted. Now talk.” John slumped into his chair.

 

Sherlock laid back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. He couldn't handle to see the disappointment in Johns eyes. Still floating a bit, however, seemed to make this easier.

 

“What do you want me to say? What will appease you?” Sherlock snarled.

 

“The truth. And I know you enough to tell when you're lying to me. How long have you been shooting up again.”

 

“This is the first.”

 

“Yeah right. Then let me see your arms.” John said making his way to the couch. Sherlock knew that he wasn't going to get away with anything but that didn't mean he had to make it easy. Sherlock just laid there, so john grabbed his wrist and rolled up his sleeve. Seeing a few more recent marks he stated. “I told you no lying.”

 

“Fine.” He sighed. “I never really stopped per say. I went through that dreadful rehab facility and once free from there I didn't use for a few months to avoid suspicion. I have continued to do this once a month or so for the last year and a half.”

 

Pleased with his apparent honesty John sat back down. Staring a hole into Sherlock. “I believe you. How did you get away with the drug tests?”

 

“Boring. Lestrade may think he's being random but there is a pattern there. I won't do anything a week before the test then it shows up clean. Except for that time with my asinine brother, but even his people can be bribed. Human error.”

 

“Okay. Then why did you start again a year ago?”

 

“A year and a half ago” Sherlock corrected, the annoyance clearly evident. “I told you already I need it.”

 

“Why do you need it?”

 

“I don't know.”

 

“I highly doubt that.”

 

“It quiets my thoughts.”

 

“So do cases. Try again.”

 

“What do you want me to bloody tell you? That I'm an addict? That I crave the feeling, that my skin itches when I haven't shot up, that I dream about the feeling of it, that I wasn't clean because I don't want to be, because I think I'm nothing without this?”

 

“If that's the truth.”

 

“Fuck you!”

 

“I'm just trying to help.”

 

“No you’re not, you're just trying to pry. To take control of my life because you don't have any control of yours. You clearly left early from work today because your lunch date canceled, you wanted to come home and cry in the shower because you think you'll be alone for the rest of your life. At this rate you bloody will you wanker! Now leave me the hell alone.” Sherlock yelled, rolling towards the back of the couch and curling up.

 

“Fuck you too.” John says with a sigh, standing up. He heads to his room to grab a towel and to the bathroom for the shower that sadly Sherlock was right about. _Screw this, I know he was just hurting me to defend himself but he can be a proper arse. And why the hell does he have to be bloody right all the time? Damn! Just let this all settle and we can talk about it, we'll figure something out._

 

Sherlock heard the shower going. _I know that was crossing the line but what right does he have to interfere with my life. I told him to leave me alone and he should have listened. Maybe I finally pushed him enough that he'll leave like everybody else does._ He sighed. _For the first time in a long time I don't want to be left alone._

 


	3. The Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The deal about getting clean.
> 
>  
> 
> I know- broken Sherlock doesn't seem likely, that he'd let his guard down. but believe me, getting caught with a drug problem is usually followed by a mental breakdown. It'll come back to this conversation later though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading!
> 
> As Always kudos, comments, and constructive criticism appreciated.  
> I don't own these characters, that would be Doyle and the BBC, this is for entertainment only.
> 
> Enjoy.

John took a fairly quick shower, allowing enough time for the emotions to wash off his body. The disappointment at his date being canceled again, the fear at seeing Sherlock like that, the anger that he would go back to that, the feeling of failure that Sherlock wouldn't talk to him about it. Leaving the bathroom he left the water on, on purpose, for as he went to his room he saw what he was expecting to catch. Sherlock crouched on the floor attempting to pick his lock. John made a mental note to put a chain lock on his door as soon as possible.

 

Sherlock concentrated so much on listening for the showers water stop he never contemplated that John would be a step ahead. The blood fled from him, looking up to John with a paper white face at being caught. He scrambled back unable to say anything, catching him by surprised he hadn't tried to hide the fear and need.

 

Sherlock retreated to the bathroom without a sound. John entered his room as if nothing happened, hearing the water turn off. The door remained solidly closed and locked. Briefly John cursed himself for not checking if Sherlock stashed anything in there. Praying to every deity he could think of that it would not be the case. The mere thought of him shooting up in the bathroom churned his stomach.

 

Getting dressed as quickly as he could John returned to the doorway of the bathroom knocking gently and checking the handle. Definitely locked.

 

“Sherlock?” _ShitShitShit please answer me, please don't be doing something stupid in there._

 

Nothing.

 

“Sherlock, please answer.” John pleaded, leaning against the door and sliding to the floor. Resting his head back.

 

That's when he heard it. The muffled sobbing. In that instant John knew true fear. His time in the military, his time being kidnapped, his time chasing after Sherlock all across London. The adrenaline rushes, were nothing to what John felt flush through his veins in that instant. He panicked.

 

“Sherlock! Sherlock! Open this damn door right now!” he said pounding.

 

“Go away!” Sherlocks voice cracked. Finally an answer. Albeit not what he was hoping for, but progress none the less.

 

“Listen. I'm not mad” _Yeah, well I am but that's not important right now. All I care about right now is you._ “Just unlock the door. Let me in. We can talk about this.”

 

“There's nothing to talk about.”

 

“You and I both know that's not true. I prefer to not have this conversation through a door.”

 

No answer came. But John waited. _Crap, I shouldn't have pushed so far. What in the bloody hell is he doing in there. Hmm, I wonder if I can pick this lock._ It felt like hours later, though probably just minutes when John was able to release the breath he didn't realize he was holding as he heard a click.

 

Taking a deep breath, not knowing what he would find, John slowly got up, reached over and opened the bathroom door.

 

Sherlock was curled upon himself in fetal position against the cold tile wall. The normally lithe body looked like a child, cowering. Head hidden, shoulders still shaking as he tried to gain control of his tears. John was frozen for a moment, he's never seen Sherlock this... vulnerable. His stomach dropped at the feeling this wouldn't be the last time he saw his best friend looking this defeated. John approached slowly, making deliberate movements as to not startle the broken detective.

 

He slumped down next to him. John reached a hand out and touched his knee.

 

“I.. I can't...” Sherlock gasped between staggered breaths.

 

“Can't what?”

 

“Can't... again... rehab...”

 

“Shhh.... it's fine. We don't have to talk about that yet.”

 

“No... can't.... last time... I'm sorry” unable to form proper sentences.

 

With a soothing voice John choose his words very carefully. Making sure that he was okay with every possible outcome. “What if I took care of you here?”

 

Sherlock turned his head slowly, looking up. His red eyes, glistening with fresh tears, and what was that John briefly saw? Was that hope? Trying to read John's face Sherlock just stared.

 

“Would you get clean, and stay clean, if I took care of you here?”

 

“I couldn't ask you to do that.”

 

“I don't recall you asking. I offered.”

 

“Catch?”

 

“What?”

 

“There has to be a catch? There has to be something more.”

 

“The catch is that I care about you. That I hate seeing you like this. That you don't need to drown out feelings this way. That you can have control without it being by injecting drugs into your veins. You have to trust me. You have to stop lying to me. You have to actually try to stay clean. Can you do that?”

 

John could see the wheels turning in Sherlocks mind, thinking through every possibility. Thinking if there was a way out of this, the realization that there wasn't.

 

“What?” John asked seeing Sherlock wanting to say something.

 

“I can't promise I'll stay clean.”

 

“I'm just asking that you try. For me if you can't do it for yourself. If you slip up we will deal with it and the consequences when we get there.”

 

“Okay. Yes.” Sherlock replied hesitantly.

 

They sat on the bathroom floor for what feels like forever. Both feeling the shift in the air.

 


	4. The crash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> crashing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always- I do not own these characters, that would be Doyle and the BBC.   
> This is just for entertainment purposes. 
> 
> Comments, kudos, and constructive criticism encouraged. 
> 
> enjoy.

The crash. The stupid crash that comes after every high. There was a reason it was called a crash. This one did not disappoint. Sherlock hated this part, everyone hated this part. He was perched in his chair in the living room when it hit. John had gotten him off the bathroom floor a hours ago but refused to let him go back to his room until he was no longer high. At first Sherlock thought it was so that he wouldn't hurt himself, a valid concern. But now, he knew better, he knew it was for this moment right here. This fall from grace that left shattered pieces where a person once was.

 

John was in the kitchen setting up the kettle for tea when he heard it. The muffled scream. Sherlock had stopped crying in the bathroom and hadn't as much as whimpered since. Letting the high flow back over him. John turned on the stove top and hesitantly made his way make to the sitting room. He had experience with addicts, but this time he has no back up.

 

John paused at the entrance way, seeing the crash start. Sherlock looked like he aged ages in a matter of minutes, his leg bouncing up and down, fingers picking at each other, the agitation clearly present. John approached, making sure that each step was loud enough to make his friend aware of him coming over. Squatting he took Sherlocks hands to keep them from doing more harm. He could feel them tighten beneath his hands.

 

“Sherlock. Look at me.” He gently demanded.

 

Pausing, the silvery eyes dared to look up and lock with his. John read his eyes as the tables had turned, his eyes starting to glaze over as he detached from reality. _Panic, fear, sadness, suspicion, and need._ The desperate desire in Sherlocks eyes broke John's heart. But he wouldn't look away, he needed to ground Sherlock to the moment, to the here and now.

 

“Sherlock. I need you to talk to me, okay? I need to know you're still here.”

 

“....” Sherlock didn't know if he could respond or not, but no words made their way out. Johns voice sounded so distant, so far away. The drugs were taunting. _You don't need yet, but you will. You always do. This little crash is nothing compared to detox. You remember rehab right? You can't handle that again. You are too weak, too pathetic. So why try? You'll come back, you always do. What do you think you're doing? You're nothing without me._

 

John could see the detective drift into his own mind, fighting an internal battle. “Sherlock.” He said a bit louder gripping the detectives hands tighter. He was loosing him. Standing he rushed back into the kitchen taking a bag of frozen peas from the ice box.

 

Sherlock was in a daze, walking into the kitchen, as John turned around. He forced Sherlock into a chair in the kitchen. “You can't keep doing this to yourself.” John said, putting the frozen vegetables into the others hand.

 

“Focus on the cold, on the way the peas feel in your hand. Focus on my voice. Try to stop thinking, come back to me. Please Sherlock. Focus.” John pleaded.

 

A few minutes later he could see the shift in Sherlocks eyes, in his posture. John let out a deep breath.

 

“Better?”

 

“mmmm. Thanks.” Sherlock replied.

 

The kettle went off, John prepared tea and biscuits for both of them. They sat in silence. Sherlock even eating. This shouldn't have surprised John because he always eats when they're not on a case. _Oh. Oh.... That explains it, the eating, the hiding in his room, the sporadic thoughts, the hypersomnia, the pacing, the blatent disregard for everything. Okay, well the last might just be Sherlock being himself. Now I'm not entirely sure what he is anymore. The crash from the drugs, it explains everything between cases. He just wouldn't let it get to withdrawal. But maybe, the agitation if a case was taking too long, cocaine doesn't produce the same physical symptoms as other withdrawals. SHITSHITSHIT! I am such a bloody idiot!_

 

“You look tired. You are sleeping tonight. There isn't a case, so no excuses. But, I'm not letting you out of my sight.”

 

Finally realizing how tired he was, how much energy today took, Sherlock just nodded not bothering to fight. Still slapping away John's hand in agitation as he tried to help him up.

 

John laid back in a chair, watching Sherlock restless in his bed but still asleep. He recognized this was only the beginning, but was happy with the progress they made during the day. John had called work, briefly letting them know that he wasn't able to come into work for while, he was more needed here.

 


	5. The case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in-between but needed. 
> 
> I have through chapter eight written so figured i'b be nice and give you an extra chapter today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always- i don't own these characters, that would be Doyle and the BBC.  
> This is for entertainment only.
> 
>  
> 
> Comments, kudos, and constructive criticism encouraged. 
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy

The next day started smoothly. Sherlock seemed to his normal self, John tried not to stare too much. Due to his inconsistent use of the drug it wasn't expected for withdrawal to impact him right away. They were in the living room, Sherlock in his mind palace and John working on the blog when an all familiar ding alerted Sherlock to a text.

 

He glanced at John, mildly surprised that he hadn't said anything to Greg yet. Judging by the equally surprised look on John's face he had forgotten in the midst of everything. Lifting the phone he read the text. 'apparent murder, missing pieces. Need your help.' and an address.

 

Sherlock looked at john with hope, a bit weary of the response. “Please?” he asked. Hoping the word he never used would have the desired effect.

 

“Fine.” John said getting up. “But if it's not solved by the end of the day you're done with it.”

 

Sherlock mumbled, John took this as an agreement. They made their way to the address, calling a cab from the doorstep. Sherlock clearly still a bit agitated. He made his way to the body while John pulled Greg aside.

 

“Hey, after this case Sherlock needs a bit of a break for awhile, okay?” John said, trying to sound as calm as possible.

 

Lestrade raised an eyebrow. “Okay? That's fine. What's wrong?”

 

“uhm, nothing. He... uh, we just need a bit of a break and time.”

 

“You know I'm not an idiot, despite how much Sherlock says it. I know you're lying. I trust that you have a good reason for it and I do expect an answer before I let either of you back on cases. Is that clear?”

 

“Yeah, of course.” John replied, staring at Sherlock, who was yelling at Donovan now. He started to walk back to intervene when he felt Lestrades hand grasp his arm.

 

“Just one other thing.” He said looking into Johns eyes. “He's using again, isn't he?”

 

_Again? He apparently never really stopped, just that little stint. Got better at hiding it is all. How to respond to that? There is no again but I don't want to lie to him about this. I also don't want him to stop having cases, he had made a deal._

 

Lestrade could see the struggle in his eyes. “Shit” he mumbled. “Just let me know when he's clean. Actually clean. We'll start doing the drug tests again, blood and hair this time too so he can't get past it. This is his second chance. If he doesn't do this..... he. is. done. No more tries.” Greg let go of Johns arm. 

 

“Got it.” He replied. 

 

Sherlock was already on his was out of the scene. “It was clearly the younger brother. Prodigal child situation. The brother just got laid off, and broke up with his girlfriend. The victim clearly just got a raise by the new clothes he was wearing, and planning on proposing to his girlfriend tonight, there's a ring box in his inner jacket pocket. The killer wanted control, was angry at the brother for his good fortune. He couldn't handle the rejection and failure, came to confront his brother. Got emotional. Human error. It was either off himself or off his brother.” Sherlock walked off the crime scene still mumbling facts under his breath. 

 

John caught up with him. They walked back to the flat rather than calling a cab. A few minutes passed before the silence broke. 

 

“What did you tell him?”

 

“What?”

 

“Don't play stupid. We both know better than that. Graham. What did you tell him?”

 

“Greg, his name is Greg. I just said we needed a break after that case and would call him when we're back to helping.”

 

“And the drugs?”

 

“He guessed. Said it's your last chance. You have to get actually clean this time, and stay clean. Or you won't be within 100 kilometers of Scotland Yard without being in a jail cell. No more cases, no excuses.”

 

“hmph” Sherlock snorted. As they arrived back at the flat. 

 

Sherlock felt an overwhelming depression cling to his chest, it started yesterday but he forgot about it while focusing on the case. He's not sure if it just became ten times worse of he's imagining it. The only thing he knows for sure is breathing itself is taking more effort than he has right now. He drops down onto the couch and promptly falls back into a restless sleep. 

 

 


	6. detox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> detox

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always- I don't own the characters, that would be Doyle and the BBC. This is for entertainment only. 
> 
> Comments, kudos, and constructive criticism encouraged.
> 
> Enjoy!

When the withdrawals actually start Sherlock feels like he's going to die. No, wait. Is convinced he is going to die. His skin is crawling, itching with raw pure need. The craving stronger than anything he's ever felt, clawing at him from the inside out. It would just be so easy to use right now. John and Lestrades men had done a sweep, more thorough than before and finding what Sherlock let them. But he kept a little stash hidden. His own little secret. Just in case.

 

John had gone about with the sweep of the flat, feeling like they were successful in finding what they were looking for. However, keeping an eye on his flatmate has been a little more difficult. Still falling asleep in Sherlocks room he dozes off in the chair but worries that his friend will wake whilst John's asleep and use.

 

John felt bad about it but had gone to Mycroft, not intending to tell him what was going on. That didn't work so well. But, he did get a promise Mycroft would not tell Sherlock he knew, and get a few extra cameras setup in Sherlocks room and elsewhere in the flat that John would have access to until Sherlock was clean. John didn't let Sherlock know about any of this.

 

Sherlock was curled into a ball, whimpering. The anxiety had flooded his system, he was exhausted but couldn't fall asleep anymore, he just felt so depressed and defeated. He needed to use, every cell in his body itched with the temptation. Trying to fight the demons within. Unwanted thoughts were impeding his mind, the drugs were calling him.  _ Just a little, you know you want to. All these bad feeling would go away if you could just get a little fix. If you shoot up this will go away. I know I know, you just use once and resist for a little while. But why? It's too much energy to fight. Why fight the drugs? Just get up and use..... _

 

Sherlock hadn't heard the door, or felt the weight shift as John sat at the edge of the bed. His whole focus was on not having a panic attack and not giving in and using. Sherlock was fairly sure he'd loose. John's hand was gently placed on Sherlock's shoulder. He shuddered and whimpered at the contact. Listening to John's soothing voice, not hearing a word he was saying, assuming it was words of comfort. Because, Sherlock didn't know why, John cared about him.

 

But Sherlocks mind wouldn't quit.  _ You can go use. You'll calm down, get some sleep. It'll be perfect, everything will be back to normal. It'll be like this never happened. It'll make you happy. Don't you want to be happy? John clearly doesn't want you to be happy or he wouldn't be doing this. You need him to go away. Then you can use again. He doesn't love you like you love him. If he loved you then he wouldn't be doing this to you. He would understand that you need the drugs, that you aren't killing yourself. That they help. You function fine, there's no problem. He just wants to hurt you. Go on. Go for it, you can do it. There's that little stash you still have. Just get up, go and be happy again. _

 

John could feel Sherlock stirring, he moved back a bit still on the bed. Recognizing the glazed look to the detectives eyes, lit only with the intense fire of the craving. John stared, worried.

 

“Go away.” Sherlock stated. _I don't want you to see this._

 

“No.” _I'm not letting you do anything._

 

“Go away.” Sherlock demanded louder this time. _I don't want to see your disappointment._

 

“No. I'm not going anywhere. I'm not going to let you shoot up.” _Please._

 

Sherlock looked up at john with a hint of surprise. “I'm not an idiot, I can tell you're withdrawing. I can see the cravings.” John continued. Sherlock just stared, the tears starting to dry on his face.

 

“You don't know anything.” John rolled his eyes at Sherlocks remark. _He's not denying anything._

 

Sherlock wobbily makes his way to stand. John jumps up next to him. “So, where is it? Where's your stash?”

 

“Like I'd tell you. I'm fine. Now leave me alone.” Sherlock said making his way out of the room, John at his toes. Sherlock enters the bathroom. 

 

“Would you please excuse me while I evacuate my bladder?” Sherlock states more than questions. 

 

“No.” Came the nonchalant reply. 

 

“You didn't seem to have a problem yesterday.” Sherlock snarled. _Please leave me the fuck alone._

 

“You weren't craving like this yesterday.” John pointed out. _Don't make me hurt you._

 

Sherlock left the bathroom, speeding back to his room in an attempt to get there and slam the door in Johns face. John was not having it, his foot made it in the door. He released an expletive as the door slammed into the edge of his foot. With a bit of struggle he made it into the room.

 

The anxiety, the irritation at John  _ why the hell does he care? _ , the rage, the cravings. The dreaded emotions were too much. So Sherlock did the only thing he could think of. He started swinging at the army doctor. Who swiftly with ease had Sherlock pinned below him on the ground, unable to move. 

 

 


	7. Together or not at all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more detox. more angst. more caring John that just refuses to get pushed away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments, kudos, and constructive criticism encouraged. 
> 
> As Always- I don't own these characters, that would be Doyle and the BBC. This story is for fun. 
> 
> Enjoy!

“GET OFF! GET OFF! GET THE FUCK OFF ME! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?! WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?! WHY WON'T YOU LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE YOU SODDING BASTARD! WHY THE HELL DO YOU CARE? JUST LEAVE ME ALONE LIKE EVERYONE ELSE. GET THE BLOODY HELL OFF ME!!!!”Sherlock was yelling his head off, on the verge of hyperventillating. John just remained firm, his body holding his best friend down, keeping him from hurting himself or John. 

 

“I'm not moving until you calm down.” John assured in his soothing voice. “I'll stay here all day if I have to but I'm not going anywhere. Okay? It will be okay. I need you to calm down. Breathe. With me, deep breath in.... and out..... There you go. Keep breathing. in.... out... good.... Just focus on breathing, focus on following my voice. in.... out.... you're doing great....Shhhhh.... it's okay....” John soothed Sherlock off the brink of a panic attack. 

 

“I'm going to let go but I don't want you to get up too fast okay. You can sit up if you want. Nod if you understand.” Sherlock nodded in response and John got up sitting the floor. Sherlock slowly moved, making sure his limbs still worked, and moved into a sitting position. 

 

“John?” Sherlock whispered the inquiry. 

 

“Yes?”

 

“Can I.... would you?.... I mean....”Sherlock stuttered. John could tell what he was asking. 

 

“Of course.” John replied, embracing Sherlock. Who started crying into John's chest, heaving breaths wracking his body. Sherlock gripped onto John's jumper like it was a life preserver and he was sinking with the titanic. 

 

He couldn't stop crying, despite his best efforts.  _ Stop being so pathetic and weak. Snap out of it.  _ Sherlock focused on Johns voice, reassuring him that they'd get through this. But Sherlock didn't care about the words, he focused on the lulling tone, hearing the words echo in his chest, feeling Johns heart rate and breathing against his skin. Unconsciously his body relaxed into the same rhythm as the man he was pressed against. 

 

They stayed that way for awhile. Once Sherlock stopped crying they sat in silence, holding each other. The only sound the distant hum of the refrigerator.

 

“It hurts.” Sherlock mumbled barely audible.

 

“What? It's hard to understand when you talk into my shirt.” John said, loosening his embrace slightly.

 

“It hurts.” Sherlock repeated, turning his head. “All of it. The cravings hurt. My skin hurts. The blood pumping through my body, my heart feels like there’s a vice on it, my head from the thinking or the crying or everything. Breathing hurts. Existing hurts.” He mumbled the last line quieter but John still heard. His heart dropped for the ailing man before him. 

 

“I know it hurts and I'm sorry. But that's not an excuse to give up. Okay? It'll get better, I know it doesn't feel like it right now but this won't last. We'll get through this together, but you have to trust me, and talk to me when you start to feel like this. Okay?” John replied. Still holding onto Sherlock as tears welled in his eyes. _We can do this. We have to do this. He has to be okay. Please let him be okay._

 

John could feel Sherlock nod against his chest.

 

They had many more nights like this. Sherlock had an urge to use. John would try to stop him. Sherlock would either have a panic attack with his anxiety level through the roof, or Sherlock would get irritated and lash out trying to physically attack John. At which case John would restrain him until the feeling passed.

 

The in-between time wasn't any better. Sherlock was extremely depressed, lethargic, couldn't sleep well no matter how tired he was. John got some medications from work to help with the anxiety and sleeping. They did help a bit, but not nearly enough. At times Sherlock wouldn't take anything, claiming John was trying to poison him or kill him in his sleep. So John would try to wait it out, or swiftly maneuver the needle into the arm of the man he was watching.

 

The process was draining on both of them. John hoped they would be past this soon. Sherlock secretly hoped that John actually would just kill him. Put him out of his misery.

 

 


	8. Backslide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No matter what John hopes he can't always be there, and drugs can be quite persuasive. Everyone has a backslide sometimes. 
> 
>  
> 
> (Posting an extra chapter today because 'edna cloud' asked for more!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading. Comments, kudos, and constructive criticism encouraged. 
> 
> As always- i don't have the pleasure of owning these characters that would be Doyle and the BBC. This story is just for fun. 
> 
> Enjoy!

John had to go pick up groceries for the week a few days after the first physical incident had occurred. Sherlock had just fallen asleep so John should have a few hours of quiet. And, it had been getting better, it really had, John tried to convince himself. Slow progress was still progress. The army doctor had a small tinge of guilt as he headed to Tesco's, intending to be quick and Sherlock would be none the wiser.

 

Sherlock was though. Sherlock was quite wise, and known the flat was running out of food. John hadn't left the flat in almost a week, afraid to leave him alone. Sherlock knew this, and knew John would think he could sneak out to get the groceries, and by balance of probability relating to past actions would not call anyone to watch Sherlock while he was gone. This all worked in the detectives favour.

 

So he pretended to be asleep, making very sure to even out his breathing, controlling his shaking, making barely audible snoring sounds. Hoping it would fool the doctor. Apparently it had. He waited to make sure John was actually gone before he tried to move.

 

Then swiftly he made his way to the stash hidden behind multiple layers of his closet. Mycroft respected the privacy of his bedroom and never put a camera in there before, so of course he had it hidden in his room. Unaware of the new camera that had been added in the recent week by Mycrofts stealthy team.

 

He crouched next to the bed and paused.  _ Should I really do this? I want to, I need to. But, John. He'll be so disappointed in me. I don't want to see that. He said I've been doing so well. He doesn't trust me though, he only left because he thought I was asleep. Clearly he shouldn't trust me. I'm crouched over freaking drugs the instant he left. I should give him a reason to trust me. Or cement the reason he shouldn't trust me. I'm past the worst part I think, and don't want to do that again. But if he doesn't catch me then I won't have to. I function better with the drugs. I can focus. And it's been so boring without Lestrade giving me cases. But he won't unless I'm clean. _

 

“fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck” Sherlock mumbles. But his body has already been moving in the familiar motion. As though this is a daily ritual, well to be honest it basically was. He looks down and sees the powder prepped with liquid in the vile. Needle ready. His belt around his arm, the vein ready for the drug. He didn't remember doing that, lost in his thoughts. Each pulse pleading _please... please... please._ His body begging. _Who am I to refuse my body?_

 

He hisses at the sting as the needle pushes through flesh then slides into the blue canal beneath his skin. The plunger pushes and he feels a twinge of guilt. He undoes the makeshift tourniquet and places everything back quickly. Then he scrambles to the bed, laying back as the high finally hits him. He sighs in contentment. _Why is this my worst enemy and closest friend? Fucking drugs invading my mind palace, making nothing else matter. Locking the doors so I can't move freely. Convincing me to ruin things. Again._

 

John returns a little later, peaking his head into his flatmates room he half whispers “Sherlock? I'm home.” Not waiting for a reply he returns to the kitchen and proceeds to put away the groceries. Sherlock curls back under the covers and pushes away the guilt, hoping he got away with it.  _ Just stay here, enjoying yourself, riding the high. See? John doesn't want you to be happy. This right now can stay if you just keep using. You don't have a problem. You can still function fine, no one has to know. John's an idiot, he won't know.  _

 

John returns to the bedroom and sits back down, watching Sherlock he shifts and stretches in the bed.

 

“Sleep well?” John asks. Sherlock moans in reply, afraid that his voice might give away the situation. 

 

“How are you feeling?” John stands and moves to the bed.

 

“Fine. Fine. Just fine.” Sherlock mumbled. _Go away_!

 

“Sherlock? Are you sure? You look a bit.... off” _Shit! What happened?_

 

“No. fine.” _Go away._

 

“Open your eyes and look at me.” _please tell me this isn't happening. I was gone one sodding hour._

 

“No.” _fuckfuckfuck_

 

“Sherlock. look. at. me.” John demanded. _fuckfuckfuck_

 

“No.” You _can't make me open my eyes. So leave me alone._

 

“I'll wait all night if I have to.”

 

“Fine. I'll be sober by then anyway.” _Shit was that out loud?_

 

“SHERLOCK!” _really?!_

 

_Yes. Apparently it was. Bloody hell._

 

 


	9. Second chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John starts taking control of the situation. finally.
> 
>  
> 
> (kind of a short chapter, so I may post another chapter later today)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! I greatly appreciate each and every one of you!  
> If you get the chance kudos, comments, and constructive criticism are encouraged!
> 
> As Always- I don't own these characters, that would be the pleasure of Doyle and the BBC. This is just for fun.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Open your eyes right now.” John reiterated. 

 

“No.” Sherlock replied and squeezed his eyes shut even further. 

 

“You already told me you used. So whats the use in hiding?”

 

“Just leave like you're going to. I disappointed you, so cut your losses and leave.” _I don't want to see the disappointment in your eyes, the sadness breaks my heart. So please leave before it hurts more. I fucked up and I can't go through this again._

 

“No matter how many times you say it I'm not leaving you. Okay? How many times do I have to tell you for you to believe it.” _Do you really think I'll leave? After all of this? That I'd just give up? I put so much of my life into you. You mean so much to me. Do you not see it? I care for you! I bloody love you! I love you Sherlock Holmes and I can't stand around watching you hurt yourself like this. I won't leave so you can kill yourself. I'll save your life if it kills me. At this rate it feels like it is. I thought we were doing so well. Yeah I've had you pinned to the floor the last couple days but you stayed clean._

 

“People say things then do something else. I promised you I wouldn't use again and here I am.”

 

“That's different. You're addicted.”

 

“But I really thought I was telling the truth. I really was going to stop.” Sherlocks voice cracks as he tries not to cry. 

 

“I know you did. I know.” John replies, trying to convince himself as much as Sherlock. “It's a setback. But we'll get back on track. It'll be okay.”

 

Sherlock rolls to face John opening his eyes. “I'm sorry” He whimpers.

 

“Hey, it's fine. I understand. We just can't do this again, okay?” John replies, wrapping his arms around the lanky body before him. 

 

“I'm sorry.” Sherlock cries into John's jumper. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry....” He keeps repeating the phrase in-between gasping breaths and rolling tears as though a mantra that would resolve his sins. 

 

“Shhh. It's okay” John soothed, rubbing Sherlocks back. 

 

Finally the tears slowed and Sherlock fell asleep wrapped in John's arms. If this was going to happen John was at least glad it happened now instead of later when Sherlock was back to working. He hadn't known of anyone who never relapsed at the beginning of the struggle known as sobriety. This may be Sherlock's second time going through this but that doesn't make it any simpler. Although a little guilt ridden John still had hope that this would be okay.  _ We can do this and will come out stronger on the other side. Maybe this time will be easier? _

 

Of course it wouldn't be easier. But John tried to tell himself that. Sure that Sherlock actually was asleep this time he sneaked to his computer and brought up the cameras. Now he could at least make sure all the drugs were gone. Watching the footage was difficult to say the least. He saw the hesitation, heard Sherlock swearing at himself, then watched the junkie give in and shoot up. But what mattered now was what happened next, the hiding of said drugs.

 

John went into the room, found the hidden stash of drugs and supplies, locked them in the safe he had upstairs and went back to Sherlocks room. Curling up in bed as if nothing happened. But the winds changed. John felt like he finally had the upper hand, that maybe this time it would be fine. He felt like things were different now.

 


	10. The merry-go-round

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cleaning up the mess.
> 
>  
> 
> last chapter was short so here you go, another one today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone reading this! i appreciate you all.  
> If you get the chance kudos, comments, and constructive criticism also appreciated.
> 
> As always- i don't own the characters, that would be Doyle and the BBC. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Sherlock finally slept. After so many sleepless nights John was glad for this, but worried as to why. _I know you can do this Sherlock. Why do you keep fighting me, just let me help. Let me in._ Sherlock stayed asleep until almost noon the next day, waking with a moan, feeling like he got hit with a train.

 

John had been sitting in the living area but heard the noise and entered the bedroom. Looking at his crashing roommate he said “How you feeling?” knowing perfectly well the answer.

 

Sherlock just groaned and rolled over, pulling the blankets over his head. John came back with some paracetamol and a glass of water. “Here” John said pulling the covers back down.

 

“Thanks” Sherlock mumbled taking the pills. He looked at John, raising one eyebrow, and questioned “Why are you still here?”

 

“Well, I live here.” John said jokingly.

 

“No. After last night. Why didn't you leave? Everyone leaves.”

 

“In case you haven't realized. I'm not everyone. You said yourself I’ve been here longer than any roommate you've had. And I don't plan on going anywhere now. I'm not going to leave and just let you kill yourself. Accidentally or not.” John replied with a stern voice. “And I will remind you of that any time you need to hear it. If I was going to leave I would've a long time ago. Probably after the first time I found half a face in our ice box.”

 

Sherlock smirked at the memory. It was an experiment about the effects of different household chemicals on altering facial construction. Seeing if one can change the general appearance of an identity. Rather boring in the end. Bleach took off prints and some evidence, Hydrogen Peroxide increased the rate of cell breakdown. But, the other chemicals weren't strong enough to have an adequate effect. And nothing changed the physical structure as he was hoping. The bones weren't effected in the least, just somewhat cleaner. John had moved in a few days before and threw a fit, almost having a heart attack when he opened the fridge to make dinner. He was a lot more careful since then about asking for warnings regarding the contents in the refrigerator.

 

“So. You need food.” John said, breaking the silence. Sherlock mumbled something under his breath, John only caught the words 'why' 'no' and 'transport'. But he interpreted the complaint. 

 

“You have to eat something, especially after last night, you need to replenish nutrients. I won't take no for an answer.” John was talking as he left for the kitchen. Making omelets with some random ingredients in the fridge before they went bad. 

 

Returning to the room he had to pull the sheets back from Sherlocks face, again. Handing him the food. “Eat” John said plain faced. Sherlock just looked at him with eyes begging to not do this. They were staring at each other, eyes locked. Sherlocks pleading, Johns demanding.

 

Finally the fork was picked up and Sherlock ate small bites of the food. John looked satisfied as he dug into his own omelet. Twenty minutes later, and halfway through his food Sherlock placed the plate on the side table and curled up again. Small shaking hands reaching out and pulling John down too. They curled up falling asleep. John finally giving into the exhaustion as well.

 

A few hours later John woke to Sherlock shaking him roughly. Screaming in his face “Where is it? What the fuck did you do with it? You bloody bastard!”

 

 


	11. Finding out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John took sherlocks drugs, sherlock is pissed, mrs hudson shows up.  
> Things will get better for these two soon!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I appreciate you all!  
> Comments, kudos, and constructive criticism encouraged.   
> I'll probably post another chapter this week. 
> 
>  
> 
> As always- i don't own these characters, that would be A.C.Doyle and the BBC. This is just for fun.
> 
> Enjoy!

It took a few moments for Johns brain to wake up and realize what Sherlock was talking about.“What are you talking about?”

 

“My stuff. My bloody stuff. You took it!”

 

“What were you going to do with it? While I was sleeping.”

 

“Uhm. Well. Was just going to get rid of it” _get rid of, use, all the same thing._

 

“Then I just helped you out. You're welcome.” a smirk on his face.

 

“FUCK YOU!” Sherlock yelled. “I need that shit. Do you know how much that cost?”

 

“Apparently it cost your family, friends, brilliant mind, consulting detective position, health.... would you like me to go on?” 

 

“No! I want you to give me back my shit!” Sherlock was yelling in the center of the room. Unconsciously his hand came up and started scratching at the elbow of his opposite arm.

 

“That's not going to happen.” John replied calmly. 

 

“Fuck! Why the fuck not?! I want you to get the bloody hell out of my flat and leave me alone!” 

 

“Also, not going to happen.” R _eally. We keep going over this. Are you really that insecure?_

 

“Fine. Then I’ll leave!” Sherlock replied turning to walk out. _I know where I can score this time of day._

 

“Yet again. Not. Going. To. Happen.” John said, pushing himself out of bed and rushing after his roommate. “You know, I'm getting tired of tackling you.” He said as he pounced on the detective. 

 

“Then stop! Get off me!” Sherlock whined. Just then the front door opened. 

 

“How are you doing dearies? I heard a loud noise...” Mrs Hudson entered the flat. “Oh my!” she said turning the corner. 

 

“Hi” John said, trying to smile while keeping Sherlock down, now wriggling like a worm to escape the army doctors grasp. “Would you mind passing me the syringe in that cabinet right there” John nodded towards the first cabinet on the right of the stove. He always kept a prepped one just in case. 

 

Mrs Hudson had an odd expression, trying to figure out what was going on while she did as John asked and got the syringe. She brought it back over and Sherlock was spewing profanities at both of them. Her brow raised as she looked back to John. “Thank you. I'll explain in a minute” He said as he injected Sherlock who then finally stopped writhing on the floor.

 

He moved Sherlock, covering him with a blanket and sliding a pillow under the junkies head. John moved to the living area and proceeded to tell the landlady about the majority of recent events. Leaving out things he thought would cause her to kick them out. Ending with the events of last night. Hearing it all out-loud hit John like a bag of bricks. Mrs Hudson just looked at him sympathetically.

 

“If you need groceries this week let me know and I can get you some. But, just this once, I'm not your housekeeper.”

 

“Thanks. Oh, I didn't even offer you tea! You fancy a cuppa?”

 

“No dear. I have to get going. Let me know if you need anything.” She said standing and giving a quick hug and leaving. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have almost the next dozen chapters written, and am at a point where this can either become fluffy Johnlock or stay a close platonic relationship. Who better to ask than the valued opinion of my readers? So, leave me a comment if you have a preference. I have ideas for both ways.


	12. Creative Methods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock may be resistive to help, but how far is he willing to go?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The votes are coming in, but if you have an opinion let it be known! So far, it looks like it'll be Johnlock coming up in awhile (i write way ahead). A heads up though, it'll be fluffy not smutty, and the angst isn't going anywhere. Just because love shows up doesn't mean all the problems magically go away, it just means there's someone else there to help you through them. 
> 
> As always- I don't own the characters that would be A.C.Doyle and the BBC. i hope you enjoy!

Sherlock woke with stiff joints. Wondering what he was doing on the floor. The events of earlier came flooding back; the yelling, the struggling, the medication. He was filled with fear of John's reaction, disappointment in himself, and an itching under his skin that he had hoped would never come back. He knew he screwed up. Bad.  _ See, couldn't even last an hour without John. I'm just a weak sodding bastard. I can't do this. Should just go shoot up as much as I can, no one would care. I can call in some favours. Just need my phone, make some calls. _

 

Sherlock sat up and looked around for John. He didn't see him anywhere.  _ Finally scared him away like everyone else. Now you're going to be alone forever. Just go OD and take care of the problem. No one cares about you.  _ He heard footsteps coming down the stairs, interrupting the intrusive and disturbing thoughts. The uneven steps informing him that John's limp is starting to come back. Probably from the stress of all this. 

 

“You're still here?”

 

“Of course I am. Are you really going to ask me that every day?”

 

“But, you weren't here.” Sherlock replied, staring down at the floor. “I thought you left.”

 

“I had to go change. I'm not going anywhere. What? Every time I go to the bathroom you think I'm going to crawl out the second floor window?”

 

“No of course not. Don't be thick. You'd just walk out the front door when I'm asleep.”

 

“I'M NOT GOING ANYWHERE! Okay? We're going to get you clean no matter how long it takes. Then we can go back on cases, and get back to our regular lives.”

 

“Sounds good. Can we do that now? Pretend this didn't happen?” Sherlock asked, his hand subconsciously scratching at the crook of his elbow.

 

“Nope. You still haven't told me why you slipped up this last time. And I’m not going to push yet but you will tell me what's going on. Okay? And if you feel like going and getting drugs I want you to come talk to me about it. I can't keep holding you down until you calm down. I know you have to deal with emotions and thoughts you haven't had to deal with in awhile, but that's why we need to talk about it. We can get past the cravings if you come to me.” _Please. We can do this together but you need to ask for help._

 

“I know.” Sherlock mumbled. “I'm sorry.” _I know I can't keep doing this._

 

“Don't be. Just try. I just need you to actually try.” _I can't do this on my own, you need to try to get clean too. I hate seeing you so defeated._

 

“I will.” Sherlock said, finally looking up. “I'm just not used to someone actually caring. To someone putting me first. But, I'll try.” _I can't do this for myself, but I will try for you. I'd do anything for you. Just please don't leave._

 

“I know.” _Junkies lie._ “So, dinner? You have to eat something today.”

 

“Uhm. I'll order pizza?” Sherlock offered.

 

John lifted an eyebrow, Sherlock never willingly ate none the less ordered food. But, he assumed But, maybe he felt like pizza, maybe that means he'd eat something without staring John down and whining the whole time. “Okay, sounds good.”

 

Sherlock got up and headed to his room. Mildly guilt ridden but with the encouragement of cravings and the drugs persistent voice in his mind he called up a buddy from the underground network. Promising it would be worth his troubles. He rested into his chair in the living room. John just credited his bouncy leg to the cravings he must be having right now. Unaware of what was happening.

 

When he heard the knock Sherlock got up to go get the food. Now John was suspicious, he had a bad feeling in his gut since Sherlock ordered the food. But to pay for it too? Sherlock came back with the pizza in hand and saw John's expression, deducing what he was thinking.

 

“What? You've taken care of me, and haven't left. The least I can do is buy you dinner for once.” Sherlock said, trying to sound convincing.

 

“Uhm, okay. Thank you.” John replied, still a bit confused.

 

Sherlock set the pizza down in the kitchen and made a plate for both of them. Slipping the cocaine into his dressing gown pocket. Bringing the food to the living area, sitting and eating with John. The pizza was good but Sherlock didn't care about eating, he just ate two pieces to make John leave him alone. This actually increased John's suspicions but he didn't say anything. Swiftly Sherlock put his plate in the sink and disappeared into his bedroom, closing the door behind him and pulling out his baggie.

 

 


	13. Asking for help.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> will sherlock use what he snuck in, or will he ask for help?  
> long chapter but i feel like it wasn't right to cut it any sooner.
> 
> (I know the ABC exercise (used with addicts a lot) is supposed to be an individual questioning their own illogical beliefs but for the sake of this John is playing part.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate all of you reading! i hope you're enjoying! there's more fun coming up but this is a milder chapter than what you've seen lately. let me know what you think! 
> 
> As always- i don't own these characters, that would be A.C.Doyle and the BBC. this is for fun.

Sherlock held the baggie in his hand. John had taken his syringes and supplies for shooting up, that doesn't mean he can't snort it. He finds a little mirror he had lying around, he used it for some experiment about refracting lasers. Fairly confident that he cleaned it after, Sherlock placed it on the bed and poured the powder. Took his credit card and made two perfect lines.  _ No track marks equal no trace. You can do this and he'll never know. Come on Sherlock, I'm the only one that ever cared. Just snort the lines. Everything will be better again. _

 

Sitting down he stared at the drugs before him. Wanting more than anything to just lean forward and inhale the toxic substance. The drugs taunting him, encouraging him. But the look of disappointment in John's eyes this morning broke his heart, the image branded into his mind. Sherlock sat there, staring at the drugs, not knowing what to do. So he did the only thing he could.

 

“John?” Sherlock whispered. _Of course he can't hear me. With this lump in my throat I can't speak any louder. I don't want him to see me like this, yet I can't keep doing this._

 

“John!” he said again louder. He heard a knock on the door. “Sherlock?”

 

“Please, John. Help me.” Sherlock whimpered as the door pushed open. The army doctor froze at the scene before him. The distraught detective sitting before the lines of coke, crying. Sherlock didn't even realize he was crying until he felt the warm tears dripping down his face. He didn't try to wipe them away. 

 

“Please.... Help.... I didn't. I can't....” Sherlocks pleading gasps broke John from his trance. He leaped forward and was sitting on the ground next to his broken friend.

 

“Shhh. It's okay. You don't have to do this. Thank you for calling me.” John said as he carefully moved the mirror out of reach. “I know it hurts, but it's not going to kill you. Give me fifteen minutes and I can help you get past this, okay? But, you have to trust me.” John didn't have too much expertise in this area but remembered learning some ABC exercise to teach addicted patients. He hoped this would help. 

 

Sherlock slowly turned his head and locked eyes with John. “I trust you.” he replied with his small cracking voice.

 

John got up and pulled Sherlock with him. They headed back to the sitting room. In their respective seats. But John pulled his forward so when they were sitting their knees touched. Sherlock hand came up again to scratch the inside of his elbow, a subconscious trait of the junkie. John reached out and held Sherlocks hands, trying to stop the action. Looking up he saw the quizzical look on the detectives face.

 

“Trust me.” he said, and could see his flatmate visibly relax, although the craving still plaguing him with anxiety. “Breathe with me.” John said taking deep breaths. Sherlock soon fell into the doctors pace. “Okay I need you to keep breathing like that, focus on that. Focus on the feeling of right now. I want you to answer me, but don't think about what you're saying, just focus on breathing. Focus on the feeling of the air moving in and out, focus on the slow pace. Okay?” Sherlock nodded in response and his grasp on Johns hands tightened slightly. 

 

“Okay. Remember, just focus on breathing.” John stated again. He continued once he thought Sherlock had calmed down enough. “Why did you want to use right now?”

 

“I messed up, I disappointed you. I tried to stop using and failed.” Sherlock said with flat affect. He was just focusing on his breathing, on the feel of Johns hands, trying not to think. 

 

“Do you always succeed in everything?”

 

“I think I have to. Then when I don't I get frustrated with myself, afraid that I've disappointed people and they'll leave. I get depressed then think what's the point in trying anymore.”

 

“Where is it written in stone that you have to always succeed on the first try?”

 

“I'm a bloody genius though. I should be smarter than making such stupid mistakes.”

 

“Do they really feel stupid at the time? Hindsight has this way of occurring after the fact.”

 

“I know. But it seems so obvious. Then I kick myself for not having thought of it before.”

 

“Is that realistic? That you always know every possible outcome? That you're always perfect?”

 

“No. Of course it's not. No one is perfect in everything.”

 

“So why do you have to be?” John prompted

 

“I know it isn't realistic, but I just do okay? I put a lot of pressure on myself then make myself feel bad if I don't succeed.”

 

“And that leads to?” The army doctor encouraged.

 

“Self destructive behaviors.” Sherlock mumbled in response. “Why am I telling you all this? It's just so illogical.”

 

“You're telling me because I can help you, I want to help you. And despite you hiding your feelings you really do care. So, can you try to be more practical with yourself when you fail at something, or slip?”

 

“I know just because I had used again doesn't mean I should make myself feel so bad and throw everything away. I can't promise anything.” Sherlock stated. 

 

“Okay. I know you can't but you have to try. The world isn't black and white. There's no 'musts' or 'always' or 'nevers'. You have to question these thoughts, dispute them. You **can** display weakness, you **can** display hurt and need, you **can** talk to me about this stuff. It's okay if you fail sometimes, but you have to have realistic expectations. You can't throw everything out the window if you slip up once. I'm not going anywhere, and I want to help you. But, I need you to want to be helped.” John expressed, rubbing his thumbs across Sherlocks hands soothingly. Sherlock sighed.

 


	14. Graffiti

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> continuation of where we left off. Sherlock is still looking for help and john is more than willing to try. how broken can Sherlock get before john puts him back together?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this! i appreciate each and every one of you! i hope you are still liking the story, i know its changing but hopefully in a good way and sherlock gets back to more normal soon. let me know what you think! Enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> As always- i do not own these characters, that would be A.C. Doyle and the BBC.

“In your mind palace. Am I there?” John broke the silence.

 

“What do you mean? Yes, I have a file on you, I do on everyone.” Sherlock said, slightly confused.

 

“No. Like you walk through the halls, the rooms. Is there a room for me, am I physically there too?”

 

“No. why?”

 

“I can be. If you want. You can let me in. I can be there and walk through with you, hold your hand if you want. When things get stressful and you start making yourself feel bad. Use me. Hear my voice. Telling you how brilliant you are, how loved you are, how you can do it. How I believe in Sherlock Holmes.”

 

They sat in silence for a few minutes. The words of John bouncing around in Sherlocks mind palace, creating graffiti on the walls. _I believe in Sherlock Holmes._ Sherlock just kept trying to focus on his breathing and the feel of his knees against Johns, and his hands grasping to his army doctor. If he focused on more than that, on what John just said, he would cry. But, he can't do that, he can't keep breaking down. _breath just breathe._ He relaxed as he focused on the present. The craving that he thought was going to kill him minutes earlier was almost all gone.

 

“Thank you.” Sherlock said, looking into the caring eyes of his army doctor.

 

“You're welcome.” John said, seeing the detectives eyes clearing as the craving passed. “Better?”

 

“Yes.” Sherlock said. He felt more relaxed too, he wasn't shaking, his mind wasn't reeling, the drugs weren't taunting. He felt.... content. He got up and moved over to the couch, stretching out like he normally did, breathing a sigh of relief. John got up and moved his seat back.

 

“Fancy a cuppa?” He said glancing at the sprawled detective.

 

“Mmmm. Sounds good.” Sherlock responded.

 

John ventured to the kitchen and started the kettle. While the water was heating Sherlock could hear Johns feet as he went to the bedroom, then some more shuffled footsteps into the bathroom, then the toilet flushing. _Well, I can't go back now._ Sherlock thought _It's getting too expensive and I’m not even using. It doesn't matter though. This time will be different. This time I want to do it, for John. I can do this. No,_ _**we** _ _can do this. I just have to trust him, and try to ignore the little voice telling me what a fuck-up I am. But John's voice is louder, it's stronger. It has to be.... please._

 

John returned a few minutes later with tea and biscuits. Seeing Sherlock in thought John wanted to ask, to make sure he was okay. But his friend still looked fairly relaxed so he didn't say anything. Sat down and just let the silence engulf the room, nothing needed to be said. Not right now. _Sherlock will come to me when he is ready. Hopefully he's finally starting to believe I’m not leaving._

 

“John” Sherlock asked, rolling onto his back.

 

“Yes?” John replied, the worry clearly evident in his voice.

 

“You said I never told you why.” Sherlock stated. “I want to tell you now. What happened before, when this started. I think I at least owe it to you.” Sherlock was scratching his arm again, John looked at his friend with worry.

 

John shifted in his seat to look more directly at Sherlock, who was pushing himself up from the sofa. He walked back over to his chair, sitting down and looking at John. Scooting forward in his seat he reached out for John's hands. “Can we... I mean... I think it helped..... if you don't mind.”

 

John moved his whole chair forward again so they were touching. “Yeah, of course. You think it helped?”

 

“Yeah. It distracted me. Focused me, I guess.” Sherlock answered.

 

“Good.... Okay. So breathe with me?” John prompted. They just sat there, Johns thumbs rubbing circles on Sherlocks hands, eyes locked onto each other as their breathing synced. John purposely slowing his breathing and Sherlock unconsciously following. Silence filled the room but John remained patient. Sherlock finally relaxed enough to speak.

 

 


	15. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock enlightens John with his sketchy druggy past.
> 
> Bare with me while Sherlock bares his soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're still reading this story! Thanks for sticking around! Remember i appreciate you!  
> This is my version of Sherlocks history. I know everyone has different theories of what happened to make Sherlock who he is. This is my adaptation, please respect that. Let me know what you think! 
> 
> As always- i don't own these characters that would be the pleasure of A. C. Doyle and the BBC. This story is just for entertainment. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Sherlock remained staring into John's eyes, breathing slowly. Focusing on the feeling of air entering and exiting his body.  _ In....out... _ The warmth emanating from Johns hands. The hypnotic feeling of Johns thumbs rubbing in little circles. The caring look in John's eyes, as he waited patiently. 

 

“You understand I can't tell you everything, but I will tell you what I can. I was fourteen. I remember the day like it was yesterday. We just moved, again. I thought the school would be okay, I hoped it would be better than the last. I never minded the new uniforms, the new kids, the new teachers. But, I got bored fast and bullied a lot. People don't like their faults being pointed out by some punk teenager.” John tried not to snort at the thought, her remembered when he first met Sherlock. The man was fascinating but didn't know when to shut up or talk. The line is still blurred but better. 

 

“No one talked to me, they stole my lunch, or pushed me out of the way in the quad. They taunted me, calling me a freak and robot. I didn't really mind, they were idiots. It gets to you after awhile, even being a highly functioning sociopath. I wasn't as distant as I hoped I was. Then there was a new kid at school. He didn't know me, didn't know anyone. But, for some reason he had lunch with me. Started looking out for me a bit. I thought I finally had a friend.”

 

“A few weeks after knowing him, he found me after school. Pulled me into an empty bathroom by the lockers. Said he had a present for me for being so nice. He pulled out a little baggie. I said no. He said it hurt his feelings that I declined his present, that I had to use it with him or he wouldn't be my friend anymore. I thought he was my friend, that I actually had a friend for once, he even used the word 'friend'. He stood up for me, I didn't want to loose that. So I agreed. He showed me how and I did lines with him off the dirty bathroom sink.” Sherlock stated.

 

“Oh, Sherlock.” John said, as he felt his heart break for his friend. They still had their eyes locked together. Sherlock saw the sadness in John's eyes. John saw the pain in Sherlocks. Sherlock took a deep breath and continued, if he stopped now he wasn't going to start again. 

 

“The next day he saw I was crashing hard. He said he could fix it. Handed me some pills, I figured they were paracetamol or something. They weren't. I don't even remember most of the day, just that I didn't care anymore, I felt numb and light. I liked that feeling, the pushes and angry words and bullying didn't matter when I was high. My mind slowed down, I didn't have all the thoughts racing anymore. I saw him later that night. He offered me more of the powder but said I had to pay now. That nothing is free. I did. I started getting nose bleeds a few months later. Worried I'd get caught I told him I didn't want anymore.” Sherlock said, continuing the story in his still disconnected voice.

 

“He didn't like that. Said he could show me how to use it and not have any more nose bleeds. I was afraid but didn't want to upset him. The first few times he did it for me, I watched. Then I started injecting myself. I ran out of money soon after, Mycroft knew something was wrong so he refused to give me anything, my allowance wasn't enough. So I told him I couldn't afford anymore, that I didn't have money. He said that I could pay another way. So I started trading favours for the drugs, paying whenever I had money. If not I paid with my body.” He sounded as though this was just a story, not as if it was his past.

 

“I felt disgusting and used, which just meant I shot up more. It was a vicious cycle, it went on for years. When I went to college, it just got worse. I didn't care about classes because they were too boring, I handed in work without showing up. I finished early, but wasn't functioning enough to get a job. I started living on the street, with the underground network- as you now know them. I fell to what felt like rock bottom, then fell further. It didn't matter though, when I was using everything was okay. I didn't want to curl up and die anymore, until I crashed. Those made me feel worse than anything, made me pray for death. There was an easy way around that though. If I shot up again I didn't have to withdraw, I could just keep using and always feel good. I had to take more and more to get the feeling though.” Sherlock took a deep breath. 

 

“I went home for Christmas one year, borrowed some nice clothes. Mycroft could tell as soon as he saw me. Said he knew I was doing bad, but not that bad. I went to the bathroom to shoot up. To forget everything, to forget the look of disappointment on Mycrofts face. I took too much. I'm not sure if it was on purpose or not. Mycroft burst into the bathroom as I was struggling to hang on to consciousness. I begged him not to take me to a hospital with the breath I had left. He looked so distraught. I don't know what happened after that, I blacked out. All I know is I woke up on a hard cot, against the cement wall of a cell. Lestrade was standing there, staring at me.” Sherlock said with flat affect. His rate of speech started to increase as he just wanted to finish the story. He felt too vulnerable. 

 

“I yelled. I yelled so much at him. Tried to push him away. I deduced his whole life, hoping to get a rage out of him, I told him about his failing marriage, about him being gay and hiding it. I told him everything I could to get him to let me out. He didn't, he spoke so calmly it pissed me off more. But he said someone had done this for him before, that he was going to help me whether I wanted him to or not. So he stayed with me for days, through withdrawal; he was there the whole time. Even when I didn't want him to. When I was finally sober and calm enough to have a conversation we talked about everything, my life, my drug use, my deducing ability. He made a deal with me then and there that if I stopped using, if I stayed clean, I could be a consulting detective on his more difficult cases. If I proved myself on some solved cases first. I did. That's when you came along.” Sherlock concluded, taking a deep breath. 

 

 


	16. Nothing's ever easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's trying to heal; sometimes he just feels broken beyond repair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm a day late with posting this chapter. Things have been happening and getting online was the last thought on my mind. I'll be back on schedule now though! I appreciate each and every one of you reading this and i hope you still like it. They will get back to work soon, but that doesn't mean everything's okay. the Johnlock is is coming up too. Let me know what you think!   
> Enjoy!
> 
> As always- I don't own these characters, that would be A. C. Doyle and the BBC. This is for amusement only.

John felt encouraged by the fact that Sherlock was actually talking to him. Things weren't smooth sailing though. John didn't expect the conversation they had to change everything overnight. But he knew Sherlock was getting better, they were getting better.

 

Most nights John curled up in bed with Sherlock at night, they didn't talk about it but Sherlock was curled close to his army doctor. He would also come up to John in the sitting room some days and just curl up against John. At times things were back to normal with the sound of a violin at three in the morning, and Sherlock complaining he was bored, or pouting as he stretched across the sofa. Sherlock even asked for John's help to get through his cravings sometimes.

 

John was encouraged by those days, when everything was okay. They made up for the days where there was screaming, objects thrown, arms swung. Sherlock trying to kick John out and push him away. John having to hold Sherlock down while the anxiety and cravings passed. Sherlock locking himself in the bathroom for hours followed by cleaning up broken mirrors and busted knuckles.

 

After a fairly violent episode where yelling, hitting, restraining and crying were involved. As well, as a hearty dose of the medicinal cocktail from the syringe John kept handy. Sherlock just didn't know what to do anymore. It felt like his body was giving up on him, that his mind was giving up on him, and most frustrating of all that John was not giving up on him. Sherlock figured he'd finally try.

 

“John?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“You know that thing. With the sitting. Can we do that again?”

 

“Of course.”

 

They went to the sitting room, in the position that has become more familiar over the past few days. Chairs close, knees touching, hands held, eyes locked. “Focus on me. Focus on the here and now. Focus on breathing. Focus on the feeling, the air moving in and out of your lungs.” John started like he always did. They relaxed into each-other.

 

Sherlock broke the silence. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry I've been fighting with you and pushing you away, it's just so hard. I'm just so broken. But I want to get back to cases. It's driving me crazy not to work.”

 

“You know you can't go back yet. Not until you're clean, and these intense cravings die down. You need to be able to handle them.”

 

“I know. I really do. And that's why I am asking for help. I need you to help me. I know you have been but I’m trying. It's just the feelings, they hurt so much.”

 

“I know. But it'll get better.”

 

“It is, kind of. It's better than it was. I still can't think and I can't stop thinking. The only thing that kept it straight is the cocaine. Everything is so intense.”

 

“That's because you've been hiding from everything for so long. You've been dulling emotions with the drugs.”

 

“I know. You have made it known that's not an option anymore. I need to deal with them, but I don't know how.”

 

“Talk to me. Like you are now. What are you feeling?”

 

“Hurt. Like I’m broken, and fracturing. Like the mirror, even if it gets glued back together there'll be cracks. It won't go back to the way it was. I'm afraid I'll never be whole again, that I never was before.”

 

“Have you ever heard of kintsugi?”

 

“Yes. Of course. I am a genius.” Sherlock said as John rolled his eyes. “It's the Japanese ceramic trend from the 15th century. Used to repair broken ceramics where a resin that had powdered gold in it is utilized to put back together the broken pieces. Became large for ceramic collectors, some actually broke items on purpose so they would be repaired with the gold lacquer. The units are regularly used in Japanese tea ceremonies.”

 

“Creating a perfectly imperfect piece of beauty.”

 

“What does this have to do with anything?”

 

“You may never be the same when put back together, still having broken pieces. But I think you are like a piece of kintsugi, the gold filling in the cracks. Making you stronger and more beautiful. You may not go back to what you were before all this started. But you are perfectly imperfect. The broken pieces are what make you you. 'The world breaks everyone, then some become strong at the broken places.'”

 

“I am aware of the Ernest Hemingway quote.” Sherlock responded dryly. “I also beg to differ, although I appreciate the sentiment.”

 

“Can you please just think about it?” John replied, knowing that he wouldn't admit to agreeing. Sherlock shrugged and nodded in response. 

 

 


	17. Effort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of an in-between chapter, Sherlock wants to get back to work, John wonders if he's ready to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! Thank you for reading this and sticking with the story! Please let me know what you're thinking! Johnlock is starting to be uncovered here and they are back to work next chapter.  
> Enjoy!
> 
> As always- i don't own the characters, that would be A. C. Doyle and the BBC. This is just for fun.

The next few days Sherlock was going back to his regular state again. At least once a day he was going to John to 'talk', but it started getting fewer and far between. There was less crying and throwing. Things were looking better. Sherlock was looking better.

 

One of the days when they were talking John thought they finally progressed enough to push a bit further. They were sitting in silence after a brief talk.

 

“Sherlock, can I ask you something?” John asked.

 

“Of course.”

 

“How are you doing? Really doing?”

 

“Better I think. It's still hard, it still hurts sometimes. But having you here is.... good.”

 

“I'm glad.”

 

“Thank you for not leaving me. I know I've been difficult.” _Please never leave._

 

“It's understandable. I'm not going anywhere. I'm glad you're doing better.”

 

“Me too.”

 

“How do you feel about taking up some cases again? I know you've been more bored and stir-crazy. If you think you can handle it I'll talk to Lestrade about getting you in on some easy ones.”

 

“Yes. I need.... something. It's quite dull around here.”

 

“Okay. But you have to keep talking to me. I'll tell him to stop letting you help if you stop talking to me or fall back into old habits. Agreed?”

 

“It seems I don't have much of an option.”

 

“You do. If you don't think you can handle it, tell me and we can wait a bit. If you do, then tell me and we can try to get back to doing that stuff. But remember Greg already gave you a chance. If you mess this up you are done for good. So make sure you think about it, and really know that you can handle it.”

 

“It'll be fine John. I need the distraction, the high of solving a case.” Sherlock mumbled. “Although, judging by the look on your face I should have chose different wording.” 

 

“No, I get it. I'm still concerned, but you've been doing better, talking to me more. Dealing with the uncomfortable feelings, realizing they'll go away and won't kill you. We can do this, together.”

 

“Okay.” Sherlock said as he went to get up. “Thank you. For everything.” He added. _I love you, John. I’m just too afraid to tell you that._

 

“You're welcome. I care about you and would do anything for you. You know that.” John replied. _I love you too._

 

John got up and started working on making pasta for dinner.  _ I knew I cared about him, but him letting me see his vulnerability, letting me in, letting me take care of him. He let me hold him when he broke down, he accepted my help. There's something just so right about holding him in my arms when we sleep. Ugh. How can I be falling for this brilliant broken man? _

 

Sherlock sat back in his chair, perched like an owl, hands templed under his chin. He retreated to his mind palace.  _ Why has John stayed? Why hasn't he left like everyone else? Why does he care?  _ Sherlock is wandering around the vast halls of his mind palace, hand running against the graffiti made of John's words.  _ Why does he believe in me? Why does he think I can do this, when I don't have the slightest hope that I can? Caring is not an advantage but I need my army doctor.  _

 

 


	18. Calliphora

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're back to work. but will this case be too much?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I appreciate you! They're getting back to work but Sherlock isn't back to his old self yet. I tried to be accurate with my descriptions (I do have forensic knowledge) although i am aware you'd have to breed the Calliphora each case to know the specific TOD but i take artistic license and use the general known time for maggot reproduction. The case will wrap up next chapter. let me know what you think!   
> Enjoy! 
> 
> As always- i don't own these characters, that would be the pleasure of A. C. Doyle and the BBC. This story is just for fun.

John had called Lestrade who had just been informed of a murder moments before. They got their first trial run of going back to normal. Sherlock was like a giddy child as they headed to the crime scene in the cab.  _ Back to work, finally. We can just forget everything and go back to normal. _ Sadly, life doesn't work that way. Life just can't become uncomplicated by a sliver of normality, of sentiment, they would soon find out. 

 

The murder of a university student. Had appeared originally to be a robbery gone wrong, but something was off so homicide got called in to the case. Sherlock had quickly realized she wasn't even killed in the trashed flat in which her body resided. He found larvae under the collar. “Rounded cross section, raised posterior spiracles. Calliphora! Some are darkened and others new, the eggs must have been on her shoes before she was killed, hatching after. They're fairly new but the time-line from ones I've tested before correlate to her dying sometime yesterday; most likely evening. They travel away from the light, so hid in the dark folds of her clothing. Not here long enough for bloating. But, what can resist a dead body? Where did they come from? There aren't any farms or stables around here. The trash bins are on the clear other side of campus, yet her classrooms are two buildings over.” Sherlock paused thinking. “Brilliant. The garden!” He stated as he turned and strode out of the flat.

 

John followed Sherlock out to the community garden next to the apartment. Sherlock was looking through the area as he found a spot that was wet in the dry garden soil. Crouching he determined that it was indeed where our victim died. He was contemplating the dance of the victim and attacker from the marks of footprints in the area when his eyes caught the corner of brown paper sticking out of the soil. Reaching down he pulled out the small package wrapped in the paper and closed with chicken twine. He froze and dropped it immediately. John noticed and promptly turned to find out what startled his friend so easily.

 

“What is it?” John said squatting next to the package. Sherlock stayed still, unable to talk. John stood waking in front of the stunned detective, placed a hand to his shoulder and asked more firmly. “What is it?”

 

“Drugs.” Sherlock said as calmly as possible. _It's fine. I've seen them before. I've even bought from this dealer, his signature bow with the twine was a dead giveaway. This shouldn't be affecting me. But for the love of goodness all I want to do right now is pick up that package, find somewhere dark, and shoot up. I knew this was going to happen I can't avoid them forever, but really. I'm supposed to be better than this. John thought I was better than this. Apparently, he was wrong._

 

John saw Sherlocks eyes clouding aith the internal battle and he was clearly shaking at this point. Unsure of what to do he tried walking Sherlock away from the garden and to the street. He texted Lestrade what they figured from the case and what happened. John hailed a taxi to get them back to Baker Street. Sherlock was resistant to get in the cab. “Not done. Need to find the killer.”

 

“We can do that later. The dead girl isn't going anywhere.” John responded.

 

Sherlock was so lost in trying to breath he didn't recognize that John was even speaking. Moments later they pulled up in front of the flat and got out. Sherlock barely made it past the door before his knees gave way and he was on his knees hyperventilating. _ Can't breathe. Chest too tight. Need air. Where the hell did all the bloody oxygen go. Why can't I breathe? It hurts so much. Please John save me. Why are my extremities going numb? I must be dying if I can't even think. I can't breathe. So dizzy. I'm going to die. _

 

John had turned around at the sound of Sherlock hitting the ground and recognized the panic attack his roommate was spiraling into. He kneeled in front of his friend, holding him. Whispering into his ear “It's okay.” “breathe. In four counts out for five.” “Breathe with me.” “You're safe. I've got you.” “please you need to breathe.”. Ten or so minutes passed, seeming like forever to the intertwined men, and Sherlocks breathing finally started evening out. They relaxed back against the door, grateful that Mrs. Hudson was out for the day.

 

“I'm sorry, Sherlock. We should have waited before going back to work,” John apologized.

 

“No it's fine. Not your fault. I apologize that I am not strong enough.”

 

“You are. You are one of the strongest men I know.” John replied, adding at the raised eyebrow from Sherlock. “Mentally, of course.”

 

“Apparently not.” Sherlock sighed going to stand. “We should go back and finish the case. I hope Donovan didn't see anything. Last thing I need is another reason for her to call me Freak.”

 

“We're not going back and no one saw anything, they were still inside as we left.”

 

Sherlock went to grab the door handle. “No. I said we're not going back today. I'll get Lestrade to drop of the crime scene photos and you can solve the case from here. Tomorrow. Tonight you are going to eat something and get some rest.” John stated.

 

Sherlock went to leave anyway and John was on his feet in seconds, standing between Sherlock and the door. “I'm not joking. I will drug you if I have to.” Sherlocks eyes went wide craving again as John kicked himself for the poor word choice. Sherlock turned and sulked up the stairs, leaving John standing in contemplation.

 


	19. Deductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The case wraps up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate all you who have stuck with this story so long! i hope you're still enjoying. This chapter is quite long but the case from last chapter is finishing up. i hope it doesn't end up sounding too confusing, sometimes things make sense in my head and not aloud. I'm trying to stay even with cases and emotions but if you think my cases suck I can just stick to the drama that brought us here. Let me know what you think!  
> Enjoy!
> 
> As always- I own my creativity but i don't own the characters, that would be A. C. Doyle and the BBC. this story is for entertainment.

John tried to get Sherlock to eat something, after adamant refusal John decided to pick his battles and told Sherlock to get some sleep. After thinking about arguing Sherlock realized the emotions of the day had caught up with him and he was exhausted. John made sure he was actually asleep before making his way back into the sitting room with a new cup of tea and plenty of time to think.

 

Lestrade dropped off the crime scene photos later that evening. “How's he doing?”

 

“Not good.”

 

“You have to drug him?”

 

“Not tonight. The panic attack took him out pretty good.”

 

“I shouldn't have given you the case. It had seemed pretty straight forward though.”

 

“I shouldn't have asked for it.”

 

“You thought he was ready.”

 

“Apparently I was wrong. He'll look at the case in the morning. As for now I think we should all get some rest.” Greg left and John made his way to curl up against Sherlock and fall asleep.

 

The morning came too quickly. Sherlock had a headache from crying the night before, and John hadn't gotten much of a restful sleep himself. But Sherlock wanted the distraction of working on the case again. Making his way downstairs the sitting room quickly had pictures covering the walls and papers on almost every surface. The mornings tea had gone cold as Sherlock was investing every fiber of his being into this case.

 

Finally Sherlock recognized John's existence in the apartment. “We need to talk to the victims parents.”

 

“They should be identifying the body, we can catch them at the hospital. I'll text molly to try to keep them there. You think they did this?”

 

“Not sure. Them or her secret lover. But we need to talk to the parents to find the lovers name. They should know who she's been very close to lately. There's a reason she didn't have a roommate.”

 

“Other than hiding her drug addiction?”

 

“Obviously.” Sherlock stated sauntering out of the flat. 

 

Molly was talking with the parents of their victim. The mother in tears and the father a few steps away staring into the distance still processing what was going on. They found an empty conference room to talk.

 

“How long have you been divorced?” Sherlock started, three sets of very surprised eyes staring at him. 

 

“A bit not good Sherlock.” John whispered at the detective. 

 

Staring at the husband Sherlock started in. “Your watch is set to a different time than your ex-wifes. I would say vacation but you have no tan lines and spilled some of your coffee on your sleeve yesterday, so you haven't gotten the chance to change. Clearly from a distance away, your job, as you still are dressed for work. Business casual as you recently had to leave the long standing job you had here to find something new. Taking the first one that came along, it's under your regular pay grade.”

 

Turning to the woman Sherlock continued. “You didn't tell your daughter. Afraid maybe. Not that the information would hurt her, but maybe that someone else would. The skin around the nails on your hand indicate you've been picking them. Not from anxiety. From guilt. You knew something was going to happen but didn't warn her. Did they find out about your drug use? Is that why your husband left you and your dealer went after your daughter?”

 

The woman burst into tears again, no one approaching her for comfort. “I'll take that as a yes.” Sherlock stood and but quickly sat back down. “That wasn't all was it. You also found out that your daughter was in an intimate relationship with the dealer. Of course! That's why you went to confront her on campus while a deal was going down. You didn't know she was intimate with him, you thought she was just paying for the drugs with her body. It was so much more than that though, she was in lust and you got angry. You wanted him for yourself, you thought you were the only one he was sleeping with. You confronted her and argued in the garden, the death was accidental but you freaked out. Dragged her back to the flat and made it look like someone was in looking for her drugs and killed her. There's one thing missing though. You couldn't carry her back up by yourself and the dealer had fled. So who helped you?”

 

The room was filled with silence only broken by muffled sobs as the woman tried to control herself. The man in the room stared at the mother of his child with disgust that she could kill her own daughter like that. “Of course” Sherlock broke the silence “You didn't go alone. You wouldn't be stupid enough to confront her or the dealer alone. You brought someone. But who would you trust enough, who would be strong enough to help you, yet ignorant enough to not report it. Someone else with a investment in your well being. Your son perhaps? Not with him of course” Sherlock stated waving dismissively at the man next to her. “He didn't know he was related to her. And your ex-husband didn't know he existed. What did you tell him? That she deserved it being a coke head? That she needed to die and he needed to help protect you because he had no one else?”

 

“I said I loved him and if he loved me he'd help. He should be long gone by now. Please, it wasn't his fault, just let him be. He didn't know. He didn't even see it happen, I told him that I was trying to help her and the dealer got mad and hurt her. That we couldn't just leave her in the cold like that. He helped me get her back up. I told him to run and I'd call for help, I knew she was already dead but he didn't. Then I trashed the place and ran. Please, I'll do anything if you just leave him alone, keep him safe.” She was gasping between tears. 

 

“This coming from a woman who just killed her daughter. Forgive me if I don't believe you.” Sherlock scoffed. Knowing she wouldn’t, or maybe couldn't, say anything else right now Sherlock stood and walked out the door with John right behind. Lestrade entered and handcuffed the wife, John had texted him just in case things had gotten out of hand. The case was wrapped and the men headed back to Baker street for the night, after Sherlock wrote his deductions for Lestrade.

 

 

 


	20. Skinny love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The after effects of the first case back to work.  
> Sherlock is back to a more typical version of himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't update yesterday, a friend died and the funeral is coming up. Which means don't be surprised if Mondays update is late too. I hope that you're enjoying the story. Back to a little extra angst before work again. don't kill me for the ending of the chapter but let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!  
> Enjoy!
> 
> As always- I only own my thoughts. The characters belong to A. C. Doyle and the BBC.

As they entered the flat Sherlock made a beeline for his room. John was quick on his tail and blocked the detectives way.

 

“No. No. You can't do that.”

 

“Are you refusing me to enter my room to be engulfed in the dormant state that you so eloquently nag me about regularly? Make up your mind.”

 

“You know I'm not talking about that.”

 

“I'm not doing anything.”

 

“Yes you are. You're trying to hide again. I will not allow it.”

 

“I am not.” Sherlock stood trying to look more convincing than he felt.

 

“You are. And you are going to sit down in the living room and we are going to talk about it. I'll make tea.” John replied.

 

“You don't know what you're talking about. To amuse you, however, I will comply.” Sherlock stated, realizing he doesn't have the effort to fight, striding into the other room. John entered the kitchen and started the kettle. Minutes later when the water was heated and tea prepared John walked into the living room and sat across from Sherlock.

 

“Are you going to tell me whats going on?” John started.

 

“We already went over this. Nothing.”

 

“Fine. You don't have to talk to me. I'll just call Lestrade and tell him you aren't ready for anymore cases.”

 

“Are you blackmailing me?”

 

“No, of course not. That's illegal. I'm just giving you an option.” John smirked.

 

“Fine. What do you want me to say? What will appease you?” Sherlock snapped.

 

“All I've ever asked of you is the truth.” John sighed.

 

Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath opening them and catching John's gaze. “I know. I'm sorry. I just want to be alone right now.”

 

“I understand that, I know that this case was difficult for you. But we need to talk about what happened. Do you want to do the 'thing' or just talk?”

 

“The 'thing' with the hands please. I don't think I can just sit here.” John scooted his chair up into the all too familiar position, there knees touching. With a sad smile John held out his hands. “Give me your hands.” They clasped hands and Sherlock gripped onto Johns hands for dear life.

 

“Remember, focus on your breathing. What's going on Sherlock? I know this case was bad for you but what are you feeling?”

 

“I don't think.... I mean... I don't know..... Why don't I know John?” Sherlock stumbled, his voice breaking more and more with each word that passed his lips. He looked into John's eyes on the verge of tears.

 

“Emotions are complicated. It's okay to not know sometimes.” John replied trying to sooth his hurting friend.

 

“NO! No its not okay! I'm supposed to know! It. Is. Not. Okay.” Sherlock's empty despair turning into a fiery rage swirling with panic.

 

“Calm down. Breathe. We can figure this out if you talk to me. Please, just breathe.” John trying to avoid the pending panic attack. “Just tell me what you're thinking then.”

 

Sherlock took a deep breath trying to calm down. “I knew it was coming. I knew I couldn't avoid it forever. Then I wasn't able to handle it, I freaked out. After all these years of not feeling, of not caring.” Sherlock took a moment then looked at John with such fury it bore a hole into Johns soul. Standing he started yelling “YOU! ITS YOU! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! YOU TOOK AWAY MY DRUGS! YOU MADE ME FEEL! I DIDN'T CARE UNTIL YOU CAME ALONG THEN YOU BROKE ME!”

 

John knew Sherlock was speaking more out of fear than real anger but the outburst was starting to scare him. He backed his chair and stood up, hoping to decrease the aggression that was directed towards him. “Breathe Sherlock. I know you're angry but we can talk about this. We can have a conversation and figure this out. I know it's scary and confusing but it doesn't have to be. Please sit down and talk to me, I just want to talk.” John was pleading as he was backing away from the approaching man looming over him, hoping to make it to the syringe he keeps just in case. 

 

Next thing he knew the world was spinning and black engulfed him.

 


	21. Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> did Sherlock really punch john in the face? What does that mean for them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate all of you who have stuck with this story! Sorry this update is late but had a friends burial and didn't get online.  
> Let me know what you're thinking i love hearing your opinions. they'll be back to work for more cases soon but i needed to add in some more feelings stuff. Enjoy! 
> 
> As always- i don't own these characters, that would be the pleasure of A. C. Doyle and the BBC.

John blinks his eyes open.  _ Why do I have this pounding headache? Why am I lying on the floor? Why is my nose bleeding? Who is that I hear crying?  _ As his eyes adjust he looks around. Focusing on the sound of sobbing he sees Sherlock curled up on the ground wracked with heaving breaths.

 

“Sherlock?”

 

“John. John! I'm so sorry! Please I didn't mean it. I”m so sorry. I don't know what happened I was just so scared and angry and I’m sorry.” Sherlock rambled between tears. _Oh my gosh! I can't believe I did that. He's going to leave now. He can't leave!_

 

“Hey. Hey. It's okay. I'm okay see?” John said as he attempted to get up. Feeling proud of himself as he only stumbled once with the blinding headache. “It's fine. I know you didn't mean it. I shouldn't have pushed.” 

 

“No that doesn't matter. There is no reason I should've done that. You aren't supposed to hurt people you love and I love you John Watson. I'm sorry.” The words escaped his mouth before he had a chance to stop them.

 

“You what?” _Did I really hear that? Really? Did he just say he loved me? No he can't mean it, he's just being emotional._

 

“Uhm... nothing. Never mind. I’m just going to go.” Sherlock walked towards the door and grabbed his coat. 

 

“Oh no you don't. You can't keep running away from things. Nothing will get better if you don't face it.”

 

“Please.” Sherlock begged. “Please just let me go.”

 

“I can't do that. I care too much about you to sit back and watch you self destruct.”

 

“No. You don't. You just want to fix me. You're a soldier and a doctor, you still think you can save the world. But guess what? You can't. Sometimes people are just too broken to be fixed, too damaged.”

 

“I know that. But I also know you are not one of those people. And don't you dare try to tell me how I feel. I care about you and you can deny it or try to ignore it but it won't change how I feel.”

 

“Why do you always want to talk about feelings? Can you just let it go. Things need to be scientific, logical, have a progression, make sense and have proof. Stick to the science. Evidence doesn't lie.”

 

“Fine. I'll drop it for tonight but before you get another case we will sit down and talk about this properly. I don't have the bail money if you can't control yourself and punch Donovan or Anderson in the face.” John joked trying to lighten the mood. Sherlock smirked at this. 

 

“Thank you and I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you.”

 

“Stop apologizing. I know you didn't. I understand these feelings you have are new to you and they're scary. But never act in fear, okay? Never run when you're afraid.” 

 

“Okay. I'm sorry.” Sherlock mumbled. John walked up to him, tilting the detectives head so they're eyes meet.

 

“Stop saying that. Seriously. If you say that one more time you don't want to know what I'll do.” John said firmly but softly. Afraid that the only words that would come out of his mouth if he talked was an apology Sherlock nodded. 

 

“What do you want for dinner?”

 

“Not hungry. Transport.” Sherlock said dryly as he removed himself from the floor and headed towards his room.

 

“Well go out with me then, you can get something light. It'll make us both feel better about the situation.” John announced. 

 

Sherlock stopped mid stride.  _ No it won't. The only thing that will make me feel better about that is the drugs that you're trying to keep me from.  _ Sherlock huffed and turned around, grabbing his coat and leaving the flat with John quick on his tail. 

 


	22. Declarations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> declarations and realizations  
> bit of a shorter chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I appreciate you sticking with the story for so long, i hope you're enjoying. I know i was updating twice a week for awhile but things are happening in real life that are taking a lot of time so for a bit i'll only be updating once a week. So, last chapter Sherlock declared his love, lets see what happens, it's getting into the Johnlock but the cases/angst/addictions still exist. let me know what you think! enjoy! 
> 
> As always- i don't own the characters, that would be A. C. Doyle and the BBC.

That night John couldn't sleep, Sherlocks words playing on repeat in his head.  _ I love you John Watson. No, he couldn't, could he? He was just scared. But he wouldn't be scared if he didn't care. I love you John Watson. No, he can't. Who would love a washed up, broken ex-army doctor with PTSD. Apparently Sherlock Holmes. Does he know how I feel? I never told him but he's a bloody genius, he must. But he doesn't understand social interactions. Love is a social interaction.  _ John's mind was reeling and before he realized it the sun was peaking through the apartment window. 

 

Sherlock stirred in Johns arms. They're been sharing a bed since Sherlocks withdrawals started.  _ Nothing weird about that. It's strictly platonic. _

 

Sherlock wraps his arms tighter around John as he whispers “Good morning.”

 

“Mornin'” 

 

“You sound tired John, didn't sleep well?”

 

“mmm, a little restless.” _Of course I didn't sleep well you love me! Do you even know what that means?!_

 

“Hope it wasn't my fault. You can push me over if you want, I understand I am a blanket hog.” _Why does this conversation feel so normal? It should be anything but that._

 

“No. You're fine love.” John hums, as he strokes his hand through sherlocks hair. Starting to finally doze off. _Why does everything have to be so complicated with you? But, then again that's what attracted me to you. That's why I love you. OH MY GOODNESS I'M IN LOVE WITH SHERLOCK HOLMES!_ John thinks as he's fully awake now and scrambling out of bed. “I'll uh... go make tea.”

 

“Okay” Sherlock mumbles rolling over. The great detective has never been a morning person, he had never slept enough before to figure this out but in Johns arms he feels safe enough to sleep forever. _Did John just call me 'love'? What is going on? Hmm, it'll be my case of the day to figure out. Now, how to test this hypothesis...._

 

John started the kettle and sat at the kitchen table waiting, deep in thought.  _ I can't just ignore this but I don't want it to blow up in my face if I tell him the truth. A distraction, we need a distraction. Lestrade. I'll get us a case.  _ The kettle whistles and John makes tea while testing Lestrade to let him know if a case comes up. Hopefully soon. 

 

Sherlock sauntered into the kitchen moments later, picking up the cup of tea John had made he headed to his normal perch in the living area. Getting lost in his mind palace, creating experiments in his head to test this new theory.

 

 


	23. Realizations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a shorter chapter but i needed to end it here. Yes there's a reason i didn't say who it is in the end of the chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with the story, i hope you are liking it. i know this is a shorter chapter but i had to split it here or it would be way too long. And I wanted to leave it hanging a bit, who do you think the woman is? (Molly, Irene, Mary, an OC?) I'm afraid this chapter is crappy because it's so short. Let me know what you think! Enjoy!
> 
> As always- i don't own the characters, that would be A. C. Doyle and the BBC.

Sherlock sat perched in his chair deep in thought wandering his mind palace for a solution. _Vital signs, there are physical symptoms associated with arousal which indicates interest. Pupil dilation, blood pressure, heart rate, breathing rate, etc. His pupils dilate at some of my actions, his breathing changes when I graze my hand over his arm. That's not enough though, I get like that when I have a new case._

 

_ What about blood? I can take a sample vial in his sleep as a control then test then get others during the day after normal actions or nice things. Looking at chemical levels like dopamine,  _ _ Norepinephrine, _ _ and  _ _ testosterone. However, John gets ever so cross when I take his blood without asking and I doubt he will let me willingly. _

 

_ How can I not know how to test this? I can't just go ask him for help like I normally would because that's admitting that I care. What can I test to figure this out?  _

 

While Sherlock gets lost in the endless maze of his mind palace John finishes up the tea in the kitchen and pulls out his laptop to work on the blog. After a quick update with the latest case he browses the inquiries for their help.  _ Boring. Boring. Only a 5. I could figure that one out myself _ . John goes through dismissing many of the emails received. 

 

_ Hmm. This one looks interesting. Finally a 8. It should help get both of us distracted and looks like a real case. _ Just as John raises his head to say that he found something Sherlock is already off of his chair and grabbing his coat as he heads out the door without a word.  _ That's weird. There's no way he could know of the case. I wonder where he's going. _

 

Sherlock is pulling on his coat and hailing a cab.  _ Why didn't I think of this before? Of course I don't have much experience with this subject but I know someone that does. Someone that can help.  _

 

Before he even realizes where he is Sherlock is standing in front of her door, raising his hand a knocking. The door opens quickly, like she was expecting him. 

 

“Hello.”

 

“Hello, come in.”

 

He saunters through the door looking more confident than he feels.

 

“I need your help.”

 

“I know.”

 


	24. The woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whose doorstep did sherlock show up on to ask for help?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and sticking around this long! Here's another fluffy-ish chapter for you. Warning- Sherlock has feelings! Really?! I know! But they're back to work and angst soon but remember you all voted for Johnlock. Let me know what you think!  
> Enjoy!
> 
> As always- I don't own these characters, that would be A. C. Doyle and the BBC.

“I need your help.”

 

“I know”

 

They walked to the living room that he has been to before. Sitting down he stared at The Woman. Not a woman- the woman. Her essence is the epitome of a whole gender. No one has the effect of him that she does, no one understands his thoughts like her. They sat in silence, reading the other person, engulfed by silence.

 

“I love him.”

 

“I know.”

 

“What do I do?”

 

“Talk to him. Clearly, you do not wish to tell him though or you would not have arrived on my doorstep. What do you want me to tell you?”

 

“How do I see if he feels the same?”

 

“He does. From the moment you walked through my door the first time I could tell. He does.”

 

“He was staring at you the whole time. Clearly aroused. Shifting weight awkwardly then looking anywhere but your direction. Hesitant to leave the room. How does that equate a desire for me?”

 

“I was naked. It made him uncomfortable because he is not comfortable with himself. Not wanting us in a room together was because he was jealous that I would get something from you that he didn't.”

 

“You did.” Sherlock replied with a smirk.

 

“That is clearly not what I meant.”

 

“I understand what you meant.”

 

“Yet you try to ignore it and plead ignorance. We both know you are many things but ignorant is not one of them Mr. Holmes.” She said shifting in her seat.

 

“If you are so adept at knowing what I am, then enlighten me Ms Adler. What am I?”

 

“You, Sherlock, are scared.”

 

Sherlock released an airy chuckle, not quite ready to admit to her or himself that she was right. “And you are mistaken.” Sherlock responded standing ready to head for the door.

 

“Really? Then why are you here?”

 

Sherlock sighed, turning to face her again. “Because science isn't working and I was mistaken in thinking that you would have expansive knowledge of the subject. Clearly, I mistook your knowledge of sexual pleasure for that of understanding human capacity for love.”

 

“I never said that I would not help with your endeavor, you never asked. The meaning behind actions, however, are just as important as the actions themselves. So I ask again, what do you want me to tell you?” She said sitting up straighter.

 

Sherlocks shoulders dropped as he drudged back into the room and sat. “I want you to tell me how to fix it. Him and his bloody emotions that he always wants to discuss. Why doesn't he understand that they're not needed if there's no logic.”

 

“Logic is in the head, love is in the heart. There is no logic in feelings. It appears as though he wants to share his feelings with you because that is all he has to give, he wants to give you everything. He asks you to do the same. That's why you are so scared, Sherlock, because you don't want to be vulnerable, you are convinced it only leads to harm because that's what history has taught you. We are similar in that, those who are supposed to love you hurt you so you take away their power by taking away the attachment. Go to him and let him in, all he wants is to share his life with you.”

 

“You are quite frustrating Ms Adler.” Sherlock said standing and heading towards the door again.

 

“You just don't like when I'm right Mr Holmes.” She laughed back.

 

He mumbled inaudibly under his breath.

 

“See you soon.” She winked as he departed.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was weary about posting this chapter because I wanted to fairly express Irene and am afraid i didn't do her justice. I think she is one of the only people that can go toe to toe with Sherlock and call him out on stuff. Let me know what you think before she may (or may not) make a return soon.


	25. Falling apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this was getting too fluffy, so here's some angst starting up again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Sorry I'm late on updating. I had a 16 hour shift yesterday and couldn't get online. then this morning accidentally posted this chapter on my other story. I'm kind of failing lately. This is entering back into angst territory because it was getting kind of cute. Let me know what you think!   
> Enjoy!
> 
> As always- I don't own the characters that would be A. C. Doyle and the BBC. All i own is a bottle of bubbles. jealous?

John paced the flat, trying to distract himself with menial tasks such as dusting and making tea.  _ Sherlocks not answering his phone. I hope he's not doing anything stupid. I should have followed him. _ He felt guilty, but for what he didn't quite know. Finally, after what felt like forever but was really just around an hour, Sherlock swiftly entered the flat.

 

“Finally! Where the bloody hell were you?!”

 

“What does it matter to you?” Sherlock responded as he flopped himself onto the couch, assuming his normal position, back towards the room. 

 

“Really? You can't even respect me enough to look at me?” The worry was quickly turning to anger.

 

“You know I respect you.” Sherlock mumbled. “Is there a reason you are trying to pick a fight today?”

 

“You sodding bastard! Why is it always a weakness if someone cares? You know what? Fine! You win! I don't care, do whatever you want.” John steamed as he walked away, setting the kettle for the third time in the hour.

 

“Oh, get off your high horse.” Sherlock says rolling over to face his opponent. “Since when are you in a position to lecture me? You run away from me this morning, hide behind that blog, and barely say two words but now.... _Now_ you decide that _I’m_ the one with the problem?”

 

John sighs rubbing his face. “I don't have the energy for this right now.”

 

“Then why did you start it?”

 

“Sorry for thinking you would see logic being that as your defense from cooperating with the the human race.”

 

“Hopefully you won't make that mistake again.” Sherlock said getting up and going for his coat.

 

“I don't plan on it. I told you I'm done. And where do you think you're going at this hour? It's half eleven.”

 

“I know what time it is, and seeing as you no longer care why should I tell you?”

 

John shook his head. “Fine, you're right as always. Just don't do anything stupid.”

 

“That's exactly what I plan on doing.” Sherlock says as the door closes behind him. 

 

John barely hearing the words he collapses back onto the chair.  _ What the hell do I do? He's going to get himself killed out there. And he said he wasn't going to use. And if he does its my fault. No, no its his own bloody fault. That stubborn arse! He's going to throw everything away. Not if I have anything to say about it. _ John slips his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through the contact list until it falls on the one person he knows can help fix this. 

 

John takes a deep breath and hits call.

 

Sherlock stopped as he got onto the street. Taking a deep breath he realized he didn't decide what he really wanted to do before storming out.  _ John just makes me so frustrated, and confused, and loved. The first person to make me feel like I matter, and am not a machine. But then it hurts ten times more when I disappoint him. Is he really washing his hands of me? I don't want to go back to before him, back to being alone. But if he's going to leave the least I can do is make sure I don't feel it.  _ Sherlock makes the decision in his mind as he heads to the tunnel of the homeless system, they can supply him with more than just information. 

 


	26. Brotherly love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter but sets a lot up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with the story, i hope you are still enjoying it. let me know what you think! This is a shorter chapter but needed to be to set up a lot of the things that are coming. I am worried about my mycroft interaction, please let me know if it's sucky and i'll make him go back to the background. (oh so much angst coming, and the only way they can handle it is with the support of each other.)   
> Enjoy!
> 
> As always- i don't own the characters, that would be A. C. Doyle and the BBC.

 

Sherlock is almost at the tunnels when a black car rolls up next to him. He rolls his eyes as he enters the vehicle.

 

“Hello brother mine.”

 

“What brings you to this neighborhood? Didn't think you were the drug type anymore Mycroft. Hate to see you tarnish your image.” Sherlock scoffed. 

 

“I see the cocaine has gone to your head.”

 

“With all this surveillance paid for by taxpayers you should know that I'm clean right now.”

 

“But you weren't planning on staying that way for long.”

 

“You don't know what I was planning.”

 

“I know I'm the smart one but didn't think you were that foolish. Lets do some maths. You minus John after a fight plus walking towards a crack den times an addictive personality equals you missing months of your life strung out until you are found and forced into rehabilitation again by me.”

 

“You overestimate your abilities brother mine. I will never go to rehab again and your maths is a bit off. If that was the equation then I would be there by now.”

 

“You would be if I didn't stop by. Hence my presence.” 

 

“Now you just overestimate your existence.” Sherlock smirked then turned to open the door. “Now, If you will excuse me I have information to obtain from my network. Didn't John tell you, we have a case.” 

 

Mycroft released an exasperated sigh as Sherlock departed from the vehicle. 

 

John wasn't fairing much better at the flat. He knew he did the right thing by calling Mycroft, but that didn't help the guilt. He knows he shouldn't have gotten out of line and yelled at Sherlock like that but sometimes he can just be so frustrating and self absorbed that the only result is a quarrel. 

 

After he had made the call he tried to get his mind off of the argument and returned to the discarded laptop. The screen bounced to life, the internet open to his last page, a plea for assistance. The perfect case. Even if he didn't tell Sherlock it existed it would keep him occupied for awhile. John jotted down some details and grabbed his coat, leaving the apartment. He figured after all the cases some of Sherlock's smarts rubbed off on him, he got a lot right at some of the crime scenes. Sadly for john the actions that most rubbed off on him were the impulsive behaviors, and going into a mysterious situation that can be deadly. 

 

 

 


	27. Abandoned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trouble trouble trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with the story. i hope you are still liking it. Everyone's getting into a bit of trouble. Can you guess who shows up in the end of this chapter? you might be surprised. I know it's a bit short but i needed to end it there for the clifhanger factor. let me know what you think!  
> Enjoy!
> 
> As always- i don't own the characters, that would be A. C. Doyle and the BBC. This story is for fun.

 

John made it a few blocks from the flat ready to ask questions of the person who emailed the duo when all of a sudden he felt a sharp pain in the back of his head, he could feel the warmth of blood trickle down his neck. Everything went fuzzy until his world went black.

 

What felt like moments later he heard the scoffing of feet across cold cement floor. His head was heavy, it would take too much energy to open his eyes none the less move. His head was pounding with his pulse, joints stiff, and he could feel the bruises forming on his body.

 

There was a distant voice, it sounded familiar but in this state of haze he couldn't place it. He couldn't make the words but the tone sounded like it was taunting him. He knew that voice, that malicious laugh. It took too much effort to think so John just rested and welcomed the darkness that consumed him again.

 

He woke like this a few more times, his body screaming in agony, his head pounding. He could hear the dripping of water like a faucet not properly turned off. In his state the sound of that water was deafening, all he wanted to do was get up and turn it off. But his body refused to let him move.

 

One of these times John made the mistake of trying to figure out where he was and what was going on. As he opened his eyes they were trying to adjust to the other people in the room. He heard someone shout then felt an excruciating pain in his gut as fist connected to flesh. If you asked moment earlier if he could be in any more pain he'd have said no. Now he knew he was wrong, also made a note to not open his eyes ever again.

 

 

Sherlock had made his way into the tunnels after getting out of Mycrofts car. He found just who he was looking for and bought just what he knew he needed. Its funny how the underground network always knew when he was coming and always knew what he needed. Whenever he came recently though he felt a pang of guilt over what he assumed would be John's disappointment if he found out he was here again.

 

He thought back to the argument, thought back to all the moments with John since he showed up in the hospitals basement. He let his mind wander as he tried to come up with a plan to fix this. _Everything will be okay. This will all blow over, and if not then ill just be slowly killing myself by doing this anyway. It needs to be done._ Sherlock was lost in thought as his phone buzzed with a text message. 

 

Raising his phone from his pocket he saw an unknown number the message only containing an address. An address that Sherlock knew all too well, spending way to many nights there. Usually his time there with someone that could be deemed very dangerous or very comforting depending on your situation. Sherlock had gotten involved in both aspects of this person, the danger is always intriguing. 

 

He made his way to the docks, finding the abandoned building on the farthest lot. The paint chipped and windows broken by juvenile vandals showing off. Sherlock composed himself and entered into the darkness, not entirely sure of what awaited him. There were a few windows high on the walls, not lending much light but enough that Sherlock could see the shadow approaching him.

 

“We meet again.” 

 


End file.
